Close-knit with a loose weave

Extended Director's Cut of 'And Furthermore' column, Wallowa County Chieftain, Nov. 14 2012

Teru was a 25-foot sailboat I lived on in Hawaii. My sailing experience before that involved many long hours of really, really wanting a sailboat, and that was about it. I did some speed-reading of all the how-to-sail books from the Lahaina Public Library, bought the cheapest boat afloat in the Hawaiian islands and started sailing up a steep learning curve. I had mixed results with this crash course approach, including one crash. Teru was driven onto a reef during a storm and I hope to never again hear the sickening noise of a fiberglass boat grinding on coral. Friends and I were able to save her, but it took a lot of hustling. 

Scan of an old battered photo. Moored off Maui.

The occasional hair-whitening moments of terror were offset with ideal moments on the boat, like falling asleep listening to humpback whales songs drifting through the hull. Or coffee in the mornings with a sea turtle who sometimes showed up to visit.

My sailing days were a stack of calendars ago, but I still like me a good boat talk when I can get it and got a dose when I ran into Lee Phelps, back home from his job on the old-timey square rigger Bounty. Lee stopped by my house for a Halloween shindig and we talked sailing. A few days later I saw the headline that his ship had gone down. Couldn't believe my eyes, so looked again and it still said the Bounty had gone down.

I had a very different conversation with Lee after the Bounty sank that ran in the Chieftain last week ("HMS Bounty sailor home when Sandy sinks ship"). Lee is sorry he wasn’t there. I would expect him to buy lottery tickets during such a run of luck, but no. One friend killed, his captain lost at sea. Ship went under in a hurricane. That’s nightmare material to most people and Lee regrets not being there.

I think I can understand Lee’s reaction, but it took me a while as I have very clear memories of being frightened in a few bad situations on my boat, wishing I was anywhere else provided it involved me being on land. Any land. I made deals with myself that if I got back safely I’d get rid of the boat and quit sailing for good. Then along would come a perfect day with dolphins swimming alongside, the wind just right, everything rainbows and mermaids, and I’d make a different deal that involved sailing around the world and doing this always.

At one point I was trying to outfit my scrappy little boat for a crossing to Fiji. The list of things I needed outpaced my bank account, so I tried to cut corners by imagining worst case scenarios and planning around them with limited resources. Turns out I'm far better at imagining horrific situations than planning around them. And that's when the nightmares started. I read every sea disaster story I could find to acquaint myself with what to expect, then went to sleep and had real, honest-to-goodness, wake-up-yelling scary dreams of sinking, storms, being adrift in a liferaft I didn't have, all sorts of fun variations. I gave myself a black eye one night, jumping out of bed in a panic and slamming my face into the low cabin ceiling overhead.

4 1/2-foot headroom. Watch your head.

So I had to think about this subject of wishing you were there for a hurricane.

It was Lee wanting to be there for his friends that makes sense of it for me. He answered my question of why on earth a person would wish to be involved with a disaster at sea and convinced me it was simply to be there and help.

Lee, on the left, with amigos.

This may sound sappy and dramatic and I hope it does, because that’s what I’m aiming for. The sailing community was very good to me. Watched out for me. Out of pity, most likely, but I was surprised with continuous and gracious help and support. The little boat communities of Mala Wharf and Manele Bay where I kept Teru put me next to some of the kindest neighbors a guy could hope for. 

One particular crusty and antisocial loner went out of his way to help, and not because he wanted to be friends. He made it crystal clear he would prefer not to be speaking to me, or anyone, but had to point out things on my boat he could help me fix. He wasn’t even nice about it, as he was being nice. Eventually he just left parts on my boat when I was gone with no note, no explanation. He refused payment, saying they were spares he didn’t need and I did. I think he did it because ... boats. Just boats. I know he didn’t like me. He didn’t think much of Teru, either. But still he kept helping.

Sure, boats are a hole in the water you throw money into. Yes, the two happiest days of a boat owner’s life can be the day you buy it and the day you sell it. But some people have their whole lives centered around living on those holes on the water. I sat on boats and looked at photo albums as proud owners showed pictures from early construction to shakedown cruise to living aboard with the same feeling parents show baby, graduation and wedding photos.

Close-knit with a loose weave, is the best I can do to describe the sailing community I got to know. Individuals on a big ocean all doing their own thing, but determined to help other boats when needed because they’re all essentially in the same boat. Wallowa County reminds me of a land-based version of that cooperation.

My own little shipwreck close to shore doesn’t compare to a 180-foot ship going down with loss of life. But I still had friends rushing to be there, in the water, doing whatever they could. So I can understand Lee Phelps saying he wishes he’d been there for his friends. And if Lee is that dedicated to his friends, I sure don’t want to get on his bad side.

Teru hauled out after her scrape on the reef.